When a child is born, it’s unaware of its surroundings. Oblivious.

It has no idea about the wars being fought or the blood being shed or the tears falling down.

A child is born with tears and with a cry that makes the onlookers happy.

A cry that announces to the world of it’s presence.

But it’s a cry that senses a presence of pain in the air.

When the child is in the mother’s womb, oblivious to anything, it feels a sort of protection. But the moment it’s out of the womb, it’s a whole new world.

It feels alienated but has a special connection. A connection all of us had once but not anymore.

When the cord is cut, the child loses its connection to its world and now is in our world.

When the first tears roll down on the cheek’s of the child,

Someone has their last.

A child that is oblivious to it’s past and future and the present.

A child whose fists are clenched, holding the potential that nobody knows about.

The prodigal son has come to this world.


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